


My Only Ratonhnhaké ton.

by Mrl3



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin/Templar Relationship, Biblical References, Character Death, Cheesy, Cliche, F/M, M/M, Random & Short, Taboo, Templar Lover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 21:01:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrl3/pseuds/Mrl3
Summary: Shorts just purely for Ratonhnhaké ton or Connor.Not Connor *Kenway* because he did not in any way claim his father's last name, for many reasons, and the plainly that he does not, nor have any thought to. Connor and his father; Haythem are both strongly, strongly disputing characters in generality. He has his true name and his English/American name given to him by Mr. Davenport, which is held onto by duty, affectionately and loyally in respect to his chosen father-figure and master. Just to clear things up, but please do enjoy, I don't write much else 'side dribbles.





	My Only Ratonhnhaké ton.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Peter 4:8 /

There's a setting, that's rarely loveda lovely setting, boring, and amateurish cordially of mine.

  
It's a sensor, it's own reverence to her own kind—the kind that wouldn't think, not twice anyway. Her name was Connor, and her name was Connor's. To have. To keep. She uttered Connor as the noose did not loosen from her neck. As her brain swelled with blood and the sky turn black from behind her shadow, her cross hanging from it's neck. That cross was as black in her crimes as it was red in the innocent she murdered, a silver of gold still, it once was endued in her wrongful heart, now amoungst the apitimy of grim coal and a hail of ash from the descending down the mountain in righteous fire. _God, God, God_ , God was her Connor—God amougst a _man_. A man who weekend hers knees when she, in-return, broke his nose in their first advances.

  
It was an acolyte. I was all a hallucination by the snare, bu Connor—he was real. His hands, his lips, his heat. God was my halogen and I parlayed the devils care as I slipped from the bourbon of his eyes, drinking his penitence that would soon flay my heart with a thousand buzzing thorns. I thought I'd, _of all worthless_ _Templars_ , deservingly crumple amoung the dead of my own leeching kind as I watched the caedis stripe his face and the air rushing into my throat. Yet, he held me. I wanted to tell him how so sorry I was, but I _couldn't_. They had sewn my lips, cut my tongue, that had become my . He swept the breathe from me and tangled his lips onto mine. Oh, sweet, Gods. How could I be deserving of a man as he when I've wronged him and paled so blindly to what he was truly fighting. But I couldn't see it because I didn't want to feel that shame that bubbled in my chest and scored my cheeks. Welting my heart into an anvil of hate for him, for Connor, and it only boiled my shame anew.

Yet, here he is—here I feel his heart pounding in my head as my mind had become simple and airy, numb, it was my fingers in his hand, not the witch he couldn't let hang. He brought unto me a new person who I could not begin to imagine could have survived the suffering I put into my own heart, yet, he pried it—and pried and pried and by Mary, I relented, with the harshest of his gentleness, molded with Michael's strong hands my coaltered bark into petals of a young girl. Only seven years ago, did she dream of light and stars and seas unimaginable to obtain when she was only fifteen. And here she withers again in the arms of the man, who she owed everything to without fault or stain of doubt in mind.

I'll take you home, he said, he promised—But I was already home, Connor. I wish I could have told him that, however, I died. But I could still hear him weep—and I wept too.

I abandoned him when he still needed me most. I could never blame him for his actions, his anger, his pain, never should he for my death, I wished so to tell him; my decisions were my own and for his comfort, his countrymen needed him, I couldn't have taken, unfeigned, what made him such a great care for the assassins when they are in disrepair for hope and change even if it called for me to take arms against my mistakes and choice to be a Templar, to have given him the time and protection he needed was all I believe I could truly give him, to pay to him and his people for what blood I had done in blind pursuit and blinder faith. He gave everything to save me. I beg the hail of Mary not to hurt him anymore than this, I will resign with glee to my hell if you'd only take away this grievance of pain I gave him.

"...Connor."

_/ Love covers over a multitude of sin._

 

**Author's Note:**

> / 1 Peter 4:8.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I do take request, the smallest even, but heed I do exploit a prompt. I may upload two shorts to one prompt, my exploit and a simpler/variant one.


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